#Four speed gearbox

[pddparthi]

Understanding the Four-Speed Gearbox: A Guide to Manual Transmissions and Gear Ratios

Introduction: The four-speed gearbox, a cornerstone of manual transmissions, has played a vital role in automotive history. Once the dominant transmission system, it has been surpassed by higher-gear options and automatics in recent times. However, understanding how a four-speed gearbox works provides valuable insight into the fundamentals of manual transmissions and gear ratios. This guide…

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Velocity Signature Series Mustang Convertible, 2024. The Florida-based specialist tuner has added a convertible to their first generation Mustang Signature Series restomod range. The work includes fitting a contemporary 460hp 5.0 litre Coyote V8 with six-speed manual or 10-speed auto gearboxes. There's also new rack and pinion steering and a four-link rear axle with upgraded brakes, 17 inch wheels and a redesigned convertible top.

[vintageclassiccars]

Jensen Viperceptor.

Underneath all the exterior lies the heart of the Viperceptor, the Dodge Viper 8.3 litre engine matched to a four-speed gearbox from a Dodge Ram and independent suspension.

[sadgi]

compiling information about the kineema, because I'm normal

hi. you may remember me from this post talking about how the kineema doesn't have a hood. I've decided to compile all the *other* info I can get on the kineema and comment on it. hopefully this is okay to read

---

let's start with what I could find on fayde

INTERFACING - With its air-cooled, rear-mounted twelve cylinder compression ignition engine driving the rear wheels through a four-speed manual gearbox, the Kineema is able to reach 100 kilometres per hour in 13.5 seconds. And go on to a top speed of 180 kilometres an hour. YOU - Won't it roll over in the first sharp corner? INTERFACING - The high centre of balance is offset by a large battery bank mounted at the bottom of the cabin, feeding all the auxiliary systems and making the Kineema effectively a mobile power plant.

air-cooled: no radiator. I assume this is what those big heat-sink looking things on sides of the engine are for

compression ignition engine: diesel, no spark plugs (diesel engines are named after a guy, rudolph diesel, so I guess in elysium they didn't do that)

rear wheel drive: this is pretty obvious just looking at the thing

100 kilometres per hour in 13.5 seconds: not very fast acceleration compared to modern cars, but the history of cars in elysium is obviously very different to irl

battery bank: this is the only thing keeping the kineema from tipping backwards onto its ass as soon as you accelerate

YOU - "What's it packing there?" (Point to the engine.) KIM KITSURAGI - "Hundred-and-thirty." INTERFACING - I reckon that's a seven-litre V12 there. ENCYCLOPEDIA - Man, that's got to be a major advancement over the KR18GU engine on the old Coupris 40. YOU - "Wait, hundred-and-thirty what?" KIM KITSURAGI - "Kilowatts," the lieutenant replies laconically.

130 kilowatts: ~174 horsepower

YOU - "That's what..." (Rub your chin.) "... a seven-litre V12?" KIM KITSURAGI - "Seven-point-two. Supercharged." The lieutenant is trying to suppress a smug smile. Unsuccessfully. EMPATHY - Saying these words brings him immense joy.

7.2 litre engine: space inside the cylinders. 7.2L/12 = 600cc per cylinder

supercharged: has a supercharger. forces more air into the engine, powered by the crankshaft (as opposed to turbochargers which are powered by the exhaust)

YOU - Run your fingers over one of the steering levers. COUPRIS KINEEMA - The white suede feels luxurious under the touch and the metal clutch handle so very familiar in your palm... INTERFACING - Your fingers waste no time closing around the handle. Clutch disengaged. Release the handle -- clutch drops -- right foot yearns for the familiar touch of the accelerator pedal. You have synced with the machine's mechanical circulation.

YOU - "A *driver* would wear down their right shoe before the left -- the accelerator is on the right. And remember that abandoned lorry cabin we found?"

steering levers: instead of a steering wheel. not exactly sure how they'd work. I *really* don't want it to have differential steering like a zero-turn mower looking at this video of kim driving it looks like the front wheels are the ones steering

clutch handle: instead of a pedal, the clutch is a handle on one of the levers. seems that accelerator and (probably) brake are still pedals

accelerator is on the right: does everyone left-foot brake??? I guess if the clutch handle is standard then that would make sense

ABANDONED LORRY - The glass on the side windows is tinted and covered with dust. You can barely make out the shape of a seat and two steering levers. [...] YOU - Check the pedals. ABANDONED LORRY - You wedge yourself under the steering-wheel to get a better look. Seems like the few tools lying around here -- a hammer, a pair of pliers, a rusty wrench -- have been casually thrown there by the disorganized driver. ABANDONED LORRY - But one odd detail does catch your eye: A piece of sandpaper has been glued to the throttle.

STEERING WHEEL TYPO

---

alright, let's actually take a look at this thing

two door: the kineema has a single driver's seat and two seats in the back. looks like you'd need to move the front seat forward to let anyone else in

suspension: the back wheels look like they have some sort of spring (the axle is connected to it, so how are the wheels being driven??? same with the coupris 40). I assume the front arms also act as a spring

rear view mirror: looks like there's no rear view mirror, since you wouldn't see shit

aerodynamics: bad

seat belts:

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1970 Dodge Challenger

The legend returns: Unveiling the powerful 1970 Dodge Challenger ‘Black Ghost’ with its iconic HEMI V8 engine

Posted on March 4, 2024

Emerging from its mysterious past as a street drag racer piloted by a police officer, the 1970 Dodge Challenger “Black Ghost” has now claimed the title of the most coveted classic Mopar.

Honoring its legacy, Dodge has introduced a contemporary tribute based on the 2023 Challenger Hellcat Redeye Widebody. In addition to this homage, the enigmatic “Black Ghost” is gearing up for its moment in the spotlight at an upcoming auction.

Captivating audiences at Kissimmee 2023 in January, the “Black Ghost” was proudly displayed alongside its contemporary counterpart. For those eager to witness its numbers-matching 426-cubic-inch (7.0-liter) HEMI V8 come to life, YouTube’s “DtRockstar1” recently shared footage of the legendary vehicle making its grand appearance at a few classic car events.

Although the video doesn’t showcase drag racing or burnouts, the striking all-black 1970 Challenger, now road-worthy after years in storage, is a breathtaking sight. Remarkably, the car remains in near-original condition, save for a few upgrades like a rebuilt brake booster, new carbs, radiator, master cylinder, and tires.

But what truly sets the “Black Ghost” apart from other classic cars, and how did it earn its intriguing moniker?

The original owner, Godfrey Qualls, was a Detroit police officer by day and a secretive drag racer by night. Risking his career, he would make unexpected appearances at local gatherings, dominate quarter-mile races, and then mysteriously vanish.

While Godfrey’s Challenger wasn’t entirely stock during its racing heyday, he kept modifications minimal, opting for a muffler delete, an aftermarket coil, and slick rear tires on stock wheels.

The HEMI V8’s impressive 425-horsepower output was more than enough for him to claim countless victories before disappearing for good in 1975. By then, the “Black Ghost” had already secured its legendary status in Detroit.

The enigmatic Challenger driver’s true identity remained a secret for decades until Godfrey revealed his thrilling drag-racing tales to his son, Gregory. Inheriting the car when his father passed away, Gregory brought the “Black Ghost” to light in 2017, sharing the astounding story of officer Qualls and his legendary vehicle.

Beyond its captivating history, this Mopar is an exceptional rarity from the golden age of muscle cars. Of the nearly 77,000 Challengers sold in 1970, a mere 356 were equipped with the formidable 426-cubic-inch HEMI V8. Godfrey’s choice of a four-speed manual gearbox further refines the car’s status to one of just 136 produced.

But the exclusivity doesn’t end there. With the added SE package, it’s one of only 60 Challengers ordered with the bundle. Considering the color and other options, it’s possible that fewer than 10 such examples were ever made.

In summary, this Challenger is the epitome of rarity, boasting a captivating story worthy of a book. It stands as a highly collectible classic that could very well be more valuable than any other 1970 Challenger in existence.

[autooptic]

1938 Mercedes-Benz W154

In September 1936, the AIACR (Association Internationale des Automobile Clubs Reconnus), the governing body of motor racing, set the new Grand Prix regulations effective from 1938. Key stipulations included a maximum engine displacement of three liters for supercharged engines and 4.5 liters for naturally aspirated engines, with a minimum car weight ranging from 400 to 850 kilograms, depending on engine size.

By the end of the 1937 season, Mercedes-Benz engineers were already hard at work developing the new W154, exploring various ideas, including a naturally aspirated engine with a W24 configuration, a rear-mounted engine, direct fuel injection, and fully streamlined bodies. Ultimately, due to heat management considerations, they opted for an in-house developed 60-degree V12 engine designed by Albert Heess. This engine mirrored the displacement characteristics of the 1924 supercharged two-liter M 2 L 8 engine, with each of its 12 cylinders displacing 250 cc. Using glycol as a coolant allowed temperatures to reach up to 125°C. The engine featured four overhead camshafts operating 48 valves via forked rocker arms, with three cylinders combined under welded coolant jackets, and non-removable heads. It had a high-capacity lubrication system, circulating 100 liters of oil per minute, and initially utilized two single-stage superchargers, later replaced by a more efficient two-stage supercharger in 1939.

The first prototype engine ran on the test bench in January 1938, and by February 7, it had achieved a nearly trouble-free test run, producing 427 hp (314 kW) at 8,000 rpm. During the first half of the season, drivers such as Caracciola, Lang, von Brauchitsch, and Seaman had access to 430 hp (316 kW), which later increased to over 468 hp (344 kW). At the Reims circuit, Hermann Lang's W154 was equipped with the most powerful version, delivering 474 hp (349 kW) and reaching 283 km/h (176 mph) on the straights. Notably, the W154 was the first Mercedes-Benz racing car to feature a five-speed gearbox.

Max Wagner, tasked with designing the suspension, had an easier job than his counterparts working on the engine. He retained much of the advanced chassis architecture from the previous year's W125 but enhanced the torsional rigidity of the frame by 30 percent. The V12 engine was mounted low and at an angle, with the carburetor air intakes extending through the expanded radiator grille.

The driver sat to the right of the propeller shaft, and the W154's sleek body sat close to the ground, lower than the tops of its tires. This design gave the car a dynamic appearance and a low center of gravity. Both Manfred von Brauchitsch and Richard Seaman, whose technical insights were highly valued by Chief Engineer Rudolf Uhlenhaut, praised the car's excellent handling.

The W154 became the most successful Silver Arrow of its era. Rudolf Caracciola secured the 1938 European Championship title (as the World Championship did not yet exist), and the W154 won three of the four Grand Prix races that counted towards the championship.

To ensure proper weight distribution, a saddle tank was installed above the driver's legs. In 1939, the addition of a two-stage supercharger boosted the V12 engine, now named the M163, to 483 hp (355 kW) at 7,800 rpm. Despite the AIACR's efforts to curb the speed of Grand Prix cars, the new three-liter formula cars matched the lap times of the 1937 750-kg formula cars, demonstrating that their attempt was largely unsuccessful. Over the winter of 1938-39, the W154 saw several refinements, including a higher cowl line around the cockpit for improved driver safety and a small, streamlined instrument panel mounted to the saddle tank. As per Uhlenhaut’s philosophy, only essential information was displayed, centered around a large tachometer flanked by water and oil temperature gauges, ensuring the driver wasn't overwhelmed by unnecessary data.

[katyawriteswhump]

a deep and dreamless love (steddie love month, day 11)

For @steddielovemonth, day 11. 'Love is saving the last bite for them,' from (@acasualcrossfade) Thank you <3

Rating: M  WC: 1,630 CW: blood drinking and mild horror. Tags: Vampire au, vampire Eddie, angst and whump with fluffy softness!

…

“You sure you can make it home all right?” Robin climbed out of Steve’s car and paused at the driver’s window. “It’s awfully dark already.”

“It’s cloudy, Robin! Cloudy daylight fries vampires as good as any July scorcher. Now get inside. Before you have to run and fall on your face.”

“Low blow, Dingus.” She curled her lip, muffled her overlong woolly scarf tight beneath her chin. “You know you can always crash h—"

“Robin! If you don’t quit yammering, we’ll BOTH end up as vamp juice-boxes.”

“If we’re gonna play that game, Shit-bird, don’t catch sight of your stupid hair in the rear-view mirror and start fiddling. Don’t wanna find your shrivelled body with my mail.”

“Hilarious. Get inside. Please?”

Steve waited to check she was safe indoors before driving off. He felt bad for being extra cranky, because she was right. He was running late. Their boss had made them stay for extra cleaning at the store, and thick clouds brooded low across an already darkening sky. However, crashing with Robin wasn’t an option.

She was safe now.

Eddie needed him more.

He drove fast, burning rubber round the corners. Nobody enforced speeding laws in Hawkins these days, not this close to sundown. He was halfway home, when the engine spluttered. Then clonked. He hit the break, thrashed at the gearbox. The BMW choked pathetically and conked out completely.

“No.” Steve flicked the ignition key. Nothing. “You gotta be kidding.”

He jumped out, opened the hood. Oil, water. Is the battery disconnected? He could hardly see in the dim light, plus he’d little faith in his basic car maintenance skills. 

Especially with his damn stupid hands shaking. 

He slammed down the lid, sprinted the hundred yards back to the nearest phone booth. He fumbled a coin into the slot and dialled.

It rang. Once, twice, three times, four times. Steve pushed sweaty hair from his eyes. “C’mon, Eddie, pick up! I really don’t wanna die, 'cos you’re moshing to Van Halen.”

The rings finally cut off: “Munson Mansion.”

“What took you?” Now Steve spoke, he realised he was practically hyperventilating.  “I’m in serious shit. My car broke down.”

“Dammit, it’s dark already? Shiiiiit! Must’ve overslept. Okay, calm down.” Eddie sounded, if anything, even less calm than Steve. “Where are you?”

“C-corner of Mason and Sherman.”

“Hold tight, Sweetheart. I’m a comin’.”

Steve pulled the collar of his jacket up—redoubling the defences of the scarf he’d worn all day—and started swiftly back toward the car. The shadows of night slinked across the grey front lawns, swallowing up broken picket fences. 

Then swallowing up Steve. 

He considered running up a driveway, hammering on somebody’s door—a better option than hunkering down in the car, though only if someone let him in.

Too late.

A tall figure in a hoodie appeared as if from nowhere, and blocked Steve’s path. The vampire’s toothy grin flashed in the chilly twilight.

“It’s rude to sneak up on people." Steve squared his shoulders, battling to keep his voice low and steady. “You hear me, knucklehead?”

He reached into his jacket, gripping the wooden stake he always carried. Before he could line up any kind of aim, the vamp was on him, knocking the stake from his hand. He grabbed Steve by the front of his shirt, lifting him clean off the ground. Goddamn vampire super-strength! Steve kicked the bloodsucker on his leg. Hard. Son-of-a-bitch didn’t even lose his grip.

“Payback time, Harrington.”

“What the—”

Steve attempted a punch, which fell short. He then registered the face behind the leering fangs. It was a football player, who’d graduated a couple of years before Steve.

“Chad Lloyd? Seriously? You’re not still pissed about—”

“You kissed my girlfriend, douchebag.”

“I was lifeguarding! I had no idea she was fake drowning till she shoved her tongue into my mouth. Gimme a break.”

Chad beamed, cheesier than ever. “Oh, I’m gonna break you, Harrington. Before or after I drink you dry.”

“Look, if you wanna keep a date, you really need to work on your one lin—”

He hurled Steve to the ground. Steve landed with a bruising, stunning thud. Then the vamp was upon him, rolling him over, ripping off his scarf and pulling down his collar. Steve kicked and struggled, though he’d almost no hope of escape.

“Hey, what’s this?” Chad tore away the neat dressing tucked under the side of Steve’s chin. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised that slutty Steve Harrington is someone’s sloppy seconds.”

No. Not there! Nobody else drinks from there!

He rammed his knee up into the vamp’s happy-sacks. Then shoved the tender side of his wrist—and that throbbing latticework of veins—right in the sucker’s face.

Chad snarled, grabbed Steve’s arm, hoisted the whole of Steve upright with it. His freshly erupted fangs ripped deep into Steve’s wrist, and he chugged greedily.

Steve’s vision spotted. The usual woolly, sicky feeling swelled in his guts, fogged his brain. He slumped, helpless and terrified, against the vampire. Who just kept drinking.

Okay… I screwed up… Screwed up bad... I always tried so damn hard to save myself for you... Miss you already, Babe… Oh, Jesus!

He was unsure if he heard the distant roar of a motorcycle engine. Could’ve been the fading thunder of his own blood. Then the whoosh of a crossbow bolt gashed into his waning consciousness. Once more, the sidewalk flew up to meet him. He’d a vague notion that the vamp fell too, smacking down beside him.

Eddie’s worried face filled his vision. His heart squeezed sluggishly, aching with love, and the world disintegrated to nothingness.

…

“Steve? C’mon. Wake up. Please wake up.”

Steve’s eyes fluttered open. “Huh?”

“You’re back!” Eddie squeezed him tight. “You scared the crap outta me.”

This was nice. He’d never object to waking up in bed with his naked boyfriend, and half-naked himself. Apart from…  Actually, not feeling so awesome.

Unsettling memories trickled back.

“How you doing?” asked Eddie. “That bastard drank waaaaay too—”

“M’fine.”

To be truthful, the whole right side of his body felt like it’d been slammed by a truck. He lifted his bandaged arm to drape around Eddie’s shoulders and struggled to disguise the effort. 

“Nothing the usual routine won’t fix.” He smirked. “You know, water, spinach, lentils. Gourmet steak dinner with red wine.”

Eddie planted a sizzling kiss on Steve’s cool, sticky brow. “Only wish we could afford that for you, Sweetheart.”

“I’ll take sex for dessert. Plus we don’t have to pay for your food.”

Steve’s fingers had barely touched the fresh bandaging on his throat, before Eddie snatched them, kissed them, tucked them away again.  “You’ve lost too much already.”

“But—”

“I can go a night without feeding, Baby.”

“If you skip dinner, you’ll be grouchy and pathetic in the morning.” 

What Steve really wanted was to wrestle Eddie into submission. He’d tease and goad him into unleashing that vampire super-strength, grappling till Steve was the one pinned to the mattress and then...

Annoyingly, Steve was too feeble to even try and sit, so he sneered. “What happens if I’m dumb enough to get jumped again tomorrow? Or Robin, or Dustin, or any of the kids? As much as I hate to admit it, they need a tame vamp looking out for them, way more than they need me these days”

“Answers still ‘no way in Hell.’ Which I’m heading to for sure, but at least the music will be—”

“Don’t change the subject. Look, I nearly got my arm torn off offering that moron my wrist. All to save the best bite for you.”

Eddie stroked Steve’s hair. “Emotional blackmail ain’t gonna work tonight.”

Good job I’ve learned to play dirty.

This time, Steve ripped the dressing from his neck before Eddie could stop him, revealing the twin fang marks Eddie left last night.

And every night.

“What? Why!?! Don’t want…” Eddie flinched away. “I don’t like this, Stevie.” 

Steve snaked his good arm up, threaded his fingers through Eddie’s lush tresses. He tugged Eddie down toward his throat.

As if on cue, a drop of hot blood trickled from the barely healed punctures. A groan shook through Eddie. He clamped onto Steve’s lifeblood, incisors piercing deep.

Steve bit his lip against a keening, desolate cry. Love didn’t only suck—it stung like a bitch, and the tide of Eddie’s hair smothered him. Still, the slip of Eddie’s tongue against his blood-slickened skin always flipped him out, in a not-entirely-bad way. From the corner of his eye, he strained to catch glimpses of Eddie drinking.

Gnnng! Too damn hot.

Soon, little stuttering gasps escaped him, as he teetered on a knife-edge. Damn, if Steve wasn’t already so shattered, so woozy, he’d be so up for sex after this…

…until he wasn’t. It hurt too much.

Eddie ripped himself free, jumped from the bed, and was  gone.

Steve lay there, trembling violently, his blurry vision further misted with tears. Completely at Eddie’s mercy. 

I’m safe. I'm safe.

Soon after he grew too weak to keep his eyes open, he sensed the skitter of featherlight fingertips. Eddie had returned to bandage him up again. Then Eddie gathered him into his arms and roused him with a tender kiss.

“Wasn’t so hard, was it?” mumbled Steve, lips moistened with his own blood.

“Holy shit, Stevie.” Eddie stuck out his tongue, kinda silly. His eyes shone with fear. “I’m a vampire. A goddamn evil, blood-sucking predator. One day, I might not be able to stop.”

“That’s bull.” No evil could overcome a nature as sweet and soft as yours. “I trust you.” I trust our love. Steve nuzzled into his favourite tattooed parts of Eddie’s chest.

I’ll save the last bite for you. Always.

He slipped away, warm and cherished in Eddie’s arms, and into a deep and dreamless sleep.

...

(also part of my steve whump fic series on AO3.)

[diabolus1exmachina]

Iso Grifo Targa Series II (1 of 4). 

Renzo Rivolta was an omnipresent industrialist and serial innovator. Tracing his manufacturing roots to before World War II, he built everything from refrigerators to scooters before the sale of his Isetta bubble car venture to German giant BMW. The proceeds of the deal launched Iso Rivolta as a car manufacturer proper, with its eponymous Bertone-styled four-seat coupé arriving in 1962, followed three years later by the sportier Grifo.Styled by Bertone’s Giorgetto Giugiaro and engineered by Giotto Bizzarrini, the new model was a gran turismo in every sense and a true competitor to the Ferrari Daytona and Maserati Ghibli. But like the Rivolta—and very unlike its rivals from Emilia Romagna—the Grifo was powered by an American V-8. Simple, rugged and powerful, Chevrolet’s 5.4-litre small block was rated at 300 horsepower, offering performance to match Bertone’s eye-catching coachwork.By 1968, the 186-mph 7-Litri arrived, propelled by Chevrolet’s famed “L71” Tri-Power V-8. Things only got better two years later with the debut of the Series II, which brought with it more refined styling with stunning and contemporary hide-away headlamps—not to mention the option of the Bowtie’s 7.4-litre big-block V-8, which was fine-tuned with forged connecting rods and dry-sump lubrication.Due to eye-watering cost, just four Series II cars left the factory with open-topped Targa coachwork; chassis 350 is one of these special examples. The car was built on 4 July 1971, specified with a reinforced chassis frame and 300-horsepower 5.7-litre Chevrolet V-8 mated to a five-speed ZF manual gearbox and 3.31:1 rear axle. The car was also fitted with factory air conditioning.

[redsnowdrop]

Ferrari - La Ferrari

F1 (and cars) MASTERLIST

Italians just do it better…

The car is equipped with a version of the F140 engine, a 65° V12 Otto cycle, direct injection and atmospheric fuel, mounted in a central position, of 6262 cm³ delivering 800 HP at 9000 rpm, 700 N m of torque at 6750 rpm, with compression ratio of 13.5:1; in addition, the HY-KERS energy recovery system, with the additional 163 HP developed by the relevant electric engine, brings the combined power and torque values ​​to, respectively, 963 HP and over 900 N·m. Thanks to the hybrid scheme, combined fuel consumption is 14.2 l/100 km (7.2 km/l), also managing to limit CO2 emissions to 330 g/km.

The chassis and bodywork, with a dry weight of 1255 kg, are entirely made of four different types of carbon fiber and Kevlar, differentiating themselves in the various areas, adapting to the specific rigidity and shock absorption needs of each. The aerodynamic drag coefficient (Cx) is 0.299 in the minimum drag configuration; but it can vary, increasing, depending on the configuration assumed by the active aerodynamics with which the car is equipped. The suspensions are overlapping wishbones at the front and multilink at the rear. The brakes are made of carbon-ceramic composite material by Brembo, and power to the rear wheels is managed through a 7-speed dual-clutch F1 gearbox.

The data that the company provides regarding acceleration are the following: 0-100 km/h in less than 3 seconds, 0-200 km/h in less than 7 seconds and 0-300 km/h in 15 seconds; the maximum speed indicated is over 350 km/h. This made it the most high-performance and fastest road Ferrari ever produced up to that point.

[nordschleifes]

chapter four — algo me gusta de ti

➝ after a choice that ends fernando's chances of a better position for the race on sunday, charlie is confronted by the driver. however, the discussion ends in a way she didn't expect.

➝ word count: 5,1k

➝ warnings: fighting (it that a warning at this point?), racing description

➝ author's note: tagging @christianpulisic10, @alonsogirlie and @enaticosencantados as requested.

— Charlie, don't you think we should start our fast laps now?

— No, you can do one more warm-up lap — she replied, her eyes on the clock at the top of the screen. There were just under two minutes left in qualifying for the Miami Grand Prix, long enough for him to take another slow lap before another flying lap to chase after pole position and finish with just under 20 seconds to go. It was an ideal strategy, carefully developed by the strategy team, all to steal Checo's provisional pole position.

One more lap. A few more seconds.

She watched closely as Fernando followed at a slower speed, giving space for Charles Leclerc’s Ferrari to pass him at turn 9 on his flier. Then, as she took her eyes off of the GPS map to look at the broadcast, she felt her heart skip a beat.

The Ferrari was sliding out of control towards the turn 16 barrier, the crash causing those in the pit wall to let out a collective groan.

— Attention, yellow flag, yellow flag at turn six — she said, before sighing as she saw the color change from yellow to red — Red flag, slow down.

Without a response from Fernando, Charlie had to confirm with what the data coming from the car said as he drastically reduced his speed. She knew it was a gamble to release him so late from the pits to do his last laps of Q3. She sighed, knowing that she should have anticipated something happening with the slippery track and Leclerc’s crash during FP2 the day before.

— Nice and slow, keep the delta positive — she said, while staring at Fernando’s name on the timing screen — The session will not be restarted. So, it's a P8 for us today.

— Yeah, we're going to have to stick with that — he muttered. He sounded less than pleased.

Given his latest results, he had every reason to be dissatisfied.

After the fifth place in Bahrain, they left for Saudi Arabia with some optimism. After the debrief, the team found, in all of the data they’d gathered over the weekend, that the car had fulfilled all expectations, and in the right conditions, there was even more performance to be had.

Jeddah was like a dream. In each free practice, Fernando was in the top three, with his lap times being tantalizingly close to the Red Bulls. In qualifying, problems with Verstappen's gearbox and a penalty for Leclerc ensured that Fernando would start from second place during the Grand Prix.

The race had its own frustrations, with Fernando getting a penalty for the car being out of position within its starting box, and another for incorrectly serving the penalty during a pit stop in the race. The team argued their case before the FIA and managed to get the pit stop infringement penalty overturned, meaning Fernando’s third place was restored. Charlie was leaving the paddock when Fernando started a video call with her to tell her the good news. Seeing him smiling and satisfied with the result made something warm fill her chest.

Another podium came in Australia, after a race with two red flags and a collision involving Fernando's car that made Charlie’s stomach lurch as she watched it, but the car ended up being able to continue.

At the end of April, a good weekend in Baku solidified the third place for Fernando in the drivers’ championship along with Aston Martin moving up to second place in the constructors' championship.

But Miami was shaping up to be different. Qualifying in P8 on a track where overtaking after the start would be difficult was not very encouraging, but a solid pit stop strategy involving two long stints on the medium and hard tires would be key for Fernando to get valuable points that Sunday. There was rain in the forecast overnight, which would make starting on soft tires unfeasible because of the high degradation during Saturday’s sessions. 

Charlie jotted a few things down in her notebook before she left the pit wall to walk back to the paddock. On the way, she tried to think of how to tell Fernando why she wanted to delay his fast laps and hadn’t considered the possibility of a red flag. Maybe if she told him that Verstappen had to abort his fast lap, too, it may help… 

“Like he cares about that”, she thought to herself as she passed her credentials over the badge reader at the paddock’s entrance turnstile. All of the team motorhomes were assembled on the field of Hard Rock Stadium, which made for a unique paddock set up. After passing a group of McLaren mechanics and waving to Lee, an engineer with whom she had worked for a few years, she entered Aston Martin’s hospitality building, heading straight to the second floor, where was the engineering office, the place they  gathered for the debriefs.

Ben and Lance were already in the office. It wasn’t surprising given that Lance had been eliminated in Q1. They were discussing the decision not to put new tires on his car, which jeopardized his attempt to gain a higher position on the grid. Charlie sat down across from them and opened her notebook, checking the notes she'd taken during qualifying and trying to ignore the tension building in her shoulders.

When Fernando came in with Dan, Charlie could see his displeasure plainly on his face. She was bracing herself for another explosion, just as it was during the McLaren-Honda days. It was a creeping, sickening deja-vu, waiting for his commentary on her poor strategy decisions and how her plan had been too risky. However, he wasn’t chatting to Dan about any of that. Instead, they were chatting about the relative effectiveness of the AMR23’s DRS.

“This is it. This is the calm before the storm”, Charlie thought, scribbling something in her notebook about factors to consider before suggesting plan B during the race. She did everything she could to avoid catching Fernando’s gaze.

 The debrief ended with no outbursts or tantrums from Fernando, and Charlie breathed a sigh of relief. As she stood up to leave, her thoughts turned to going back to her hotel room, ordering room service for dinner, and maybe watching last year’s Miami GP and taking more notes.

— Charlie? — she turned around to see that Fernando was on his feet, adjusting his green cap on his head. He was still wearing his overalls, but the collar was open and the zipper was pulled down to the middle of his chest.

— Yeah?

— Can we talk?

— Of course — Charlie replied, trying to hide her nervousness — What do you need?

— Come with me — he said, brushing past her and leaving the engineering office. As she followed behind him, Charlie couldn't shake the sickening feeling that she knew what was about to happen, even more so when Fernando opened the door to his drivers’ room and gestured for her to step inside. 

She had entered several drivers’ rooms over the years, but this is the first time she had been in Fernando’s since he came over to Aston Martin. The room was one of the simpler, more basic ones she’d seen. There was a small desk with his laptop, a chair, a sofa and a kind of small wardrobe open in the corner, with his backpack and his regular clothes inside. The only thing on the wall was a poster of the AMR23. She was surprised. His drivers’ room when he was in McLaren was a bit more decorated, with the flags of Spain and his home province of Asturias adorning the walls. 

When Charlie heard the door close behind her, she felt her shoulders tense. Fernando stepped back around her, pulling his arms out of the sleeves of his overalls so he could take it off.

— Well, what did you want to talk about? — she asked, thinking about how naive she sounded.

— You know what I want to talk about, Charlie — Fernando replied, picking up a bottle of water that was on the table. He leaned back against it as he opened it and took a long drink, all without taking his eyes off of her.

— Is it about your fast lap?

— If you can call that a fast lap — he said, drying his mouth with the back of his hand.

— It was a warm-up lap.

— The third in a row, when I could have done a fast lap and improved my time — he said dryly.

Charlie sighed.

— It was a strategy...

— A strategy that didn't work.

— Because of Charles — she answered immediately.

— You should have known he was going to do something wrong, Charlie. He was having problems with the rear of the car, I saw it when he passed me.

— You could have told me that.

— Why didn’t you see it on my onboard? Weren’t you watching it?

Charlie laughed in disbelief.

— Yes, I was looking at the onboard, but I was also looking at the brake telemetry, temperatures, everyone else’s times, engine readings, the status of your car, and talking to you at the same time.

— Well, you should have paid attention to my onboards so you can see what I see. 

— I could say the same about many things, Fernando, but I know you're doing several things at the same time...

— But you ask for things anyway — he said.

— Because if I don't ask, your car breaks down and I'm the one who has to listen to you whining.

He snorted, running a hand over his face.

— Well, it doesn’t matter anyway, because the weekend is over, Charlie. Your so-called strategy has made it so this entire weekend is just going to be a waste of everyone’s time.

— Do you want me to apologize? — she asked, trying to stay calm — Is that it? You're making this whole speech because you want me to apologize to you?

— No, Charlie. Your apologies are of no use to me now. Your apologies are not going to get me on the podium tomorrow, or even make me score points. Your apologies won't make me a champion again.

— Who ever said you’re going to be a champion again, Fernando? — Charlie muttered. It was reflexive, almost automatic. 

Fernando’s eyes shot to hers, his expression going rigid.

— I did. I said it. I'm going to be champion again — he replied — But only if you stop making strategy calls that hinder me instead of helping me.

— The only thing that hinders you, Fernando, is your ego. If you don’t keep it in check, you'll never lift that trophy again at the end of the year in Paris.

His nostrils flared. Charlie had found his Achilles heel. She felt a sense of immense satisfaction. She knew she shouldn’t continue digging deeper, but a voice in the back of her mind pleaded with her to not pass up the opportunity to hit him where it hurt, as justice for the years of misery he’d caused her.

— It's not a matter of ego, Charlie, and you know it. I am the hardest working driver on the entire grid…

— That's what you think, right? I’ve heard every driver say that — she interrupted him, crossing her arms — But you’re not any better than anyone else.

— I'm better than everyone. I’m the most complete driver out of all twenty of us, I…

— Are you? If you're so good, then why did you lose to a rookie in 2007? — she asked. Now that she’d gotten her claws in, it seemed like it would be difficult to stop. 

— Everyone knows that asshole Dennis favored Hamilton…

— And then what? When you returned to Renault, why couldn't you beat him then? Why did it take Flavio bribing your teammate into crashing out in Singapore to get you on the podium?

The memory of the 2008 scandal made him visibly clench his teeth. Now, Charlie was just playing dirty, but it was intoxicating. The voice in the back of her head urged her on, to give him a dose of his own poison, to make him feel like she did on that fateful afternoon in Montreal.

— You have to have a lot of audacity to say that you are the best while sharing the grid with Lewis — she continued, taking a step forward to face him — He’s the greatest driver of all time, but not only that, he’s a better teammate than you are. He’s better than you at everything.

— Charlie...

— He's better than you in and out of the car, better in the simulator, better than you personally and professionally. He’s even better than you in bed! — she exclaimed, without thinking. She cursed at herself. She’d gone too far. Her desire to damage Fernando’s ego had gotten ahead of her mouth, and she knew it when she watched Fernando’s expression change from anger to surprise.

— How do you know that? — Fernando asked, the shadow of a smile creeping over his face.

She blinked, transfixed. It wasn't like she actually knew what Lewis was like in bed, after all, she had never had anything more than a professional relationship with him. She’d never had any relationships with any drivers, and it was for a good reason, especially working as a woman in a male-dominated environment.

At the same time, though, she wasn't deaf to the rumors running through the paddock. It wasn’t like Charlie enjoyed gossip, but it was nearly impossible to ignore the whispered conversations the caterers and cleaning staff had during off-peak hours in the motorhome, but admitting that to Fernando would be the end of whatever remained of her credibility.

— You shouldn't talk about things you don’t know anything about, Charlie — he said quietly, in the face of her silence.

— But I do… Know — she replied, trying to hide her nervousness when she realized how close he was to her.

— You mean you fucked him? — Fernando asked. The way he’d asked was clearly a challenge.

— Yes — Charlie lied, trying to keep her voice steady. However, she couldn't help noticing how fast her heart was beating inside her chest, or how her eyes insisted on drifting down to his lips — And he's very good.

— Oh, he is? Tell me more.

She felt her mind freeze for a few seconds.

— I'm not going to talk about this with you.

— Why not? — he asked, smiling.

— Because I don't owe you any explanations about my sex life.

— Considering you're making assumptions about my sex life, I think I have a right to know what you consider good sex.

Charlie felt her cheeks heat up.

— He's good — she just replied.

— Did he make you come? — Fernando asked bluntly. A wave of heat raced over Charlie's skin as soon as the word left his lips.

— Like I said, he's really good, unlike you.

— You never fucked me, so you wouldn’t know whether I'm good or not.

— Well, I don't need to.

— Oh, I think you do, Charlotte.

In that split second, it was as if a video tape had been rewound in her mind. Staring into his eyes, Charlie remembered the first time she'd spoken with him, on a cold January morning eight years ago. The image of him, with a well-tailored gray suit and his dark, combed-back hair, was seared into her mind. She remembered perfectly what she had thought when she saw him enter her sector, a wide smile on his face as he shook her hand as Ron Dennis introduced them. 

“Handsome”, she thought. And there, standing inches away from her, with the sleeves of his overalls tied around his hips and his dark green baseball cap over his brown hair, he looked the same way.

Handsome.

Another voice came to the back of her mind, making a not-so-subtle suggestion of what she should do. 

So, Charlie did.

Putting her hands on Fernando's face, she pulled his body against hers, their lips colliding in a rough, passionate kiss, completely devoid of any delicacy. The touch ran through her body like an electric shock, sharpening her senses immediately. The faint scent of the cologne he'd put on before heading out on the circuit seemed to have mingled with something Charlie could only classify as his own, delicious and uniquely his.

Her hands slid from his face to the back of his neck, while her lips parted to allow her to taste Fernando. He was sweet and salty and sour all at the same time, as if all facets of him had combined into the lips of the man she was kissing. Her thoughts were an irrational jumble, Charlie realized, but there was nothing rational about the situation.

With her pulse roaring in her ears, she barely noticed when her back hit the wall, much less when Fernando's hands went down her waist towards the skirt she was wearing. Pulling the green fabric up haphazardly, he pressed his fingers into the skin of her ass, pulling Charlie’s hips flush to his. Feeling her nails dig into his skin, she continued that hungry, almost desperate exploration. It was as if one were the air the other needed to breathe, the surface in that sea of unresolved arguments and feelings.

Charlie only realized she was out of breath when she felt Fernando's lips leave hers, trailing down her jaw, nibbling on her skin. He wasn’t touching her like someone with a point to prove, but like someone who had achieved a goal. Someone who had finally gotten what he wanted.

— Did he do this to you, Charlie? — Fernando asked, in a low voice, his hot breath making her skin crawl — Did Lewis kiss you like this?

— No — she replied, sighing as she felt him bite her earlobe.

— Did he touch you like this?

— No — Charlie said, hands sliding through his hair, his Aston Martin cap long since fallen to the floor.

— So he didn't fuck you — he said, as his lips trailed down her neck — He didn’t give you anything close to what you deserve.

— What I deserve — she murmured, reflexively. There was no room for any coherent thought in the rising fever in her mind. There was only one thing that Charlie could see in his dilated pupils, when he lifted his face from the crook of her neck.

Desire.

— A real fuck — Fernando murmured, his lips brushing hers — With someone who knows exactly how to touch you, how to kiss you, how to make you moan, how to make you come. Someone like me, nena.

Charlie stopped suddenly, eyes fixed on his face. Her mind was in a whirlwind of thoughts, guilt mixing with the adrenaline that was coursing through her body. “What have I done?”, she thought, as he brushed his nose lightly against hers, mumbling something she didn't understand.

— Puedo hacerlo todo. Puedo hacer lo que quieras. Sólo dime que sí, nena.

Fernando, the man who had said in more ways than one that he couldn’t stand her, was telling her that he knew how to touch her, how to kiss her, how to make her moan, how to make her come. Of all people, it was him. The man she hated, the man who had almost made her give up on her dream of succeeding in motorsport. The man she had just kissed, because she couldn't resist her own desire to have him for herself, to try those lips and feel his tender touch.

Him. Why him?

Taking her hands to Fernando's shoulders, she pushed him lightly, in a gesture for him to move away. "I couldn't have done that", Charlie repeated mentally, while trying to adjust her green skirt, which was now horribly wrinkled from being hiked up to her hips.

— Charlie? Are you okay? — he asked.

— Leave me alone — she snarled, before quickly storming out of the room, ignoring his protests and slamming the door behind her. A few steps later, Charlie stopped in the middle of the hallway and leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath and trying to calm her own heart that was beating fast in her chest.

Charlie couldn't understand what had just happened. She couldn't understand how that discussion about winning or not winning the championship turned into sensual whispers about how he would make her come like she deserved, into him biting and kissing her neck.

The idea of having sex with Fernando, even a few weeks ago, sounded like an absurdity. However, at that moment, it no longer seemed like something impossible or ridiculous, but something Charlie actively desired. She wanted to touch him, wanted to feel him inside her, wanted to hear the whisper that would make her moan and see the expression on his face when she achieved his goal.

Putting a hand to her face, Charlie grunted in frustration. “Stop it, Charlotte, stop it, stop it!”, she condemned herself. She couldn't and shouldn't think about that. They hated each other. She hated him. She hated him deeply. Or should.

— Joder! — she heard Fernando yell, followed by a loud, heavy sound, like a fist hitting a table. It was the signal Charlie needed to head back into the engineering office to get her things before heading back to the hotel. She didn’t say anything to anyone, and ignored someone she knew waving to her. She walked through the paddock like a woman on a mission, but her head was elsewhere. All she could think about was what had happened minutes before, how she was filled with Fernando's scent and taste. “I need a shower, urgently”, Charlie thought, as she ordered an Uber on her phone.

If she expected to sleep that night, she was wrong. Anxiety kept her eyes open, glued to the hotel room ceiling. Charlie had thousands of questions in her head. Why had she pulled Fernando against her? Why had she kissed him? Why had she allowed him to touch her? Why didn't she back off? Why had she liked it?

As she was ruminating over the kiss, Charlie saw the sun rise over Miami Beach.

Sunday passed in a blur. She was making such an effort to stay awake and focused on that afternoon's race that she had practically mentally isolated herself from everything around her. Charlie didn't see anything related to the start of the day, not even the much-talked-about entry of the driver at the start of the opening ceremony.

Facing Fernando was the strangest part. They met by chance at the door of the engineering office. Meeting his eyes, Charlie felt her heart jump in her chest, a shiver crawling over her skin.

— Good morning — he murmured, standing in front of her.

— Good morning — she managed to reply, before dodging the driver and heading for the garage.

After a good start by Fernando allowed him to gain some positions, the race no longer had any emotion. In fact, it was so boring that Charlie heard the driver commenting on Lance's overtake that he saw on one of the trackside screens. Lance was fighting for a points place, but Fernando managed to finish third after an otherwise uneventful race. As he crossed the finish line, she felt like a weight had lifted off her shoulders.

— Yeah, P3 today. Very good — she said, her voice flat.

— Very good, guys. It was a lonely race, but we can deal with that.

She didn't watch the podium ceremony or even join the group for team photos with the trophy. The debrief was quick and more focused on Lance than Fernando. As soon as the meeting ended, Charlie got up and left the room, not looking back, even as she thought she heard someone call her name. 

Back in her hotel room, she laid down on the bed and let out a heavy sigh. It felt like she’d been holding her breath since she’d left the track. Charlie felt suffocated, as if she were drowning in her own doubt and fears.

Whenever she felt like this, she knew there was one person she could turn to.

Charlie picked up her phone and tapped on the name in her contacts list. As she listened to the insistent rings, she made a mental calculation of the time zone and mentally condemned herself. It was well after midnight in the UK, not a good time for a phone call. However, someone must be awake, as, seconds later, she heard a sweet voice on the other end of the line.

— Good evening, my dear — Amanda, her grandmother, said. Charlie could tell from her voice that she was smiling, even if she did sound tired — How are you?

— Hi, grandma, good evening. I'm fine, and you?

— I'm fine too, just a little sleepy.

Guilt surged through Charlie's chest.

— Sorry I called so late, I forgot about the time difference…

— It's okay, my love, I've been waiting for you to call. You know I don't sleep without talking to you first.

She smiled. Her grandmother had been the woman she had always considered as her mother. It was Amanda who smiled along with her in happy moments and dried her tears at the difficult ones. It was Amanda who had taught Charlie to love math, and who encouraged her to apply for the work experience at McLaren while she was in university, even though Charlie thought the chances of her getting the placement seemed slim.

— Your grandfather watched the race today — the grandmother continued — He said that driver of yours did well, despite starting down the grid.

Something in Amanda's words made her lips purse.

— Yeah, he did well today — Charlie just said.

She couldn’t think of anything to fill the silence for a few seconds.

— Honey, did something happen? — her grandmother asked.

— No, grandma, nothing happened — she hastened to say.

— Are you sure?

— Yeah, I'm just tired — she said, trying to sound convincing.

— Charlotte Elaine, I've known you long enough to know when you're lying, and right now, I'm sure you're lying to me. Is something going on?

Charlie let out a long, frustrated sigh. She didn't like discussing personal matters over the phone in the best of cases, and this was not the best of cases. However, her grandmother would never let her hang up the phone without saying what was bothering her.

— Darling, please — Amanda insisted, again.

— It's just — she hesitated for a few seconds — I kissed a guy.

— Oh, really? — the grandmother said. She sounded interested — And was it good?

Charlie felt her heart jump in her chest. She didn't know which word to choose to describe what had happened in that room. It hadn't been a simple make-out session that could happen in any corner of the paddock or in any Miami nightclub, but something different. There was emotion there. There was feeling. And she didn't know how to deal with it.

— It was normal, I guess.

Amanda laughed on the other end of the line.

— Clearly it wasn't normal, considering you’re acting very strangely

— I'm not acting strangely, grandma...

— Speaking hesitantly, carefully — her grandmother continued — Is the boy there with you now? Tell him to take good care of you, huh?

— Grandma — Charlie exclaimed, feeling her cheeks heat up — He's not here with me, in fact, I don't even know where he is right now...

— How do you not know where he is? You didn't go to a party on a work weekend, did you? You know these trips are for work, right, Charlie?

She pressed her hand into her face. 

— No, grandma, I didn't go to a party. He only left after the race in his jet, no big deal.

— Jet? He’s rich, then?

Charlie sighed. There was no way out of it.

— Grandma, I kissed Fernando.

— Fernando, which Fernando?

— Alonso.

— The driver?

— Yes.

— Wait, your driver?

— Yes.

Silence reigned on the line for a few seconds.

— And how did that happen? — Amanda asked.

"If only I knew", she thought, sitting up in bed.

— We were in his room in the motorhome, we started talking, and it happened kind of unexpectedly.

Charlie heard her grandmother giggle.

— Well, is he handsome, at least?

— You've seen him on television.

— You know these drivers all look the same to me, the only one that stands out is Lewis, for obvious reasons.

— Okay, grandma — Charlie replied — He's good-looking.

— How good-looking?

— Like, a little taller than me, has a beard and dark hair — she described, trying to ignore the shiver that crept across her skin — His eyes are light brown, with a smudge of green near the pupil. They are the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen...

— Got it — Amanda said — And is he a good kisser?

— Grandma! — she exclaimed.

— I just want to know, Charlie! But something tells me he is...

— Please, grandma...

— Come on, tell me. Was it good?

She pressed her lips together, resting her head on her free hand.

— Yes, grandma, he's good. Very good.

— Wow, so it’s serious!

— It wasn't, grandma. It was just a casual thing, nothing major...

— Considering you’re calling me this late, I don’t think it was that casual — Amanda replied, the smile coming to her voice again. She was definitely more excited about it than Charlie.

— Even if I thought it wasn't casual, he probably thinks it was, so it's no use getting your hopes up.

— Are you telling this to me, or to yourself?

— I’m telling you, grandma — she replied, trying to hide her annoyance — By the way, shouldn't you be sleeping?

— Perhaps, but it's much more interesting to hear you recount your adventures around the world. By the way, are you coming home this week? Ron misses you already.

Charlie smiled at the mention of the cat. He always stayed with her grandparents when she was traveling, especially during double and triple headers, when it became impossible to get back to England between races. Fortunately, Ron liked Jamie and Amanda enough to feel comfortable in their home.

— I will, grandma. I leave tomorrow in the middle of the day, but I won’t get back until Tuesday afternoon, if I don't have any delays.

— Is it that long of a flight? 

— No, it’s not too long, but I have to get two connections. One in Montreal and another in Frankfurt. Then an hour's drive from Birmingham and I'll finally be home.

— Do you want to have dinner with us, since you're going to have to stop by the house to pick up Ron?

Charlie smiled.

— Ah, that would be excellent, grandma. I miss your food.

— I thought you liked American food — Amanda said, laughing.

— It is, but nothing compares to yours — she replied, making her grandmother laugh. That was one of the best sounds in the world for Charlie.

— I can make that pot pie you like, the one with the beef, with extra potatoes. 

The memory of the smell of pies baking in Amanda’s kitchen made Charlie smile fondly. 

— I'd love to, grandma — she replied.

— And in return, you can tell me more about this Fernando Alonso, what do you think?

— Are you blackmailing me?

— Just trying to stay informed regarding the state of your relationships, my dear.

She laughed in disbelief. 

— It’s not a relationship, grandma, and it never will be. 

[hannumikkola]

INSIGHT Group B had completely upped the ante in 1984 with the introduction of the Audi Quattro S1. This specific Quattro was developed to flaunt true power within the golden era of rallying- and it certainly did show off as it was a monster.

The Quattro was very technologically advanced for its time, it implemented a four wheel drive system which had changed rallying forever. It also had a sequential gearbox and a water cooling system for the breaks. Furthermore, the Quattro also had very sophisticated aerodynamics which helped its performance vastly.

From 1984-1987, this car would soar through the Pikes Peak Hillclimb with three variations of the Quattro. As the Quattro was fully capable of tackling the terrain of Pikes Peak, it had won three times.

NOTABLE DRIVERS

1. Michèle Mouton 🇫🇷 2. Walter Röhrl 🇩🇪 3. Hannu Mikkola 🇫🇮

ENGINE SPECS

Configuration: Straight 5 Displacement: 2,110cm^3 Fuel feed: Fuel Injection Power: 540HP [at precisely 7500RPM]

PERFORMANCE SPECS

Top Speed: 155mph [249km/h] 0-60mph: 3.1s

TRANSMISSION SPECS

Drive Type: AWD Gearbox: 6-speed Sequential

[90s-shitbox]

AE101 TRD 2000

In October 1994, Toyota Racing Development (TRD) introduced the AE101 TRD 2000, a highly exclusive version of the Corolla GT sedan designed specifically for the Japanese market. This model was meticulously engineered to emulate the performance specifications of the 1994 Corolla JTCC race car. Under the hood, the TRD 2000 featured a naturally-aspirated 2.0-liter 3S-GE engine, delivering 180 PS (132 kW), coupled with a new 5-speed S54 manual gearbox. To enhance its performance, TRD equipped the car with a heavy-duty clutch, a mechanical limited-slip differential (LSD), and a quick shifter, ensuring precise and responsive gear changes.

The TRD 2000's handling was significantly improved with a new suspension system that lowered the ride height by 20 mm, alongside 15-inch TRD Type-FT wheels shod with Yokohama Grand Prix M5 tires. The braking system was upgraded with TRD brakes, providing superior stopping power. A stainless steel dual exhaust system not only improved performance but also added a distinctive sound. The car's exterior featured a subtle trunk spoiler and was available exclusively in white, giving it a clean and sporty appearance.

Inside, the TRD 2000 was fitted with König Prinz P200 bucket seats and a TRD steering wheel, creating a driver-focused cockpit. Despite its impressive features and race-inspired design, the TRD 2000 was a rare sight on the roads. Originally, 99 units were planned for production, but only 10 were sold due to the high price tag, which was even higher than the cost of the Celica GT-Four ST205. This limited availability and unique blend of performance and refinement make the TRD 2000 a coveted piece of Toyota's automotive history.

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Nissan Pulsar GTI-Ra, 1990. A homologation special based on the 4th generation (N14) Pulsar hatchback built to meet WRC Group A requirements. Powered by a turbocharged 2.0-litre ‘SR20DET’ inline-four, producing 330bhp, driving through a five-speed manual gearbox and the ‘ATTESA’ all-wheel drive system.

[pwlanier]

1927 Bentley 3-Litre Sports Project

Registration no. YF 2654

Chassis no. TN1566

Engine no. TN1567

• Originally an Offord-bodied coupé

• Matching chassis and engine

• Family owned since March 1957

• Garaged unused for some 50-plus years

• 'Barn find' offered for restoration

With characteristic humility 'W O' was constantly amazed by the enthusiasm of later generations for the products of Bentley Motors Limited, and it is testimony to the soundness of his engineering design skills that so many of his products have survived. From the humblest of beginnings in a mews garage off Baker Street, London in 1919 the Bentley rapidly achieved fame as an exciting fast touring car, well able to compete with the best of European and American sports cars in the tough world of motor sport in the 1920s. Bentley's domination at Le Mans in 1924, 1927, 1928, 1929 and 1930 is legendary, and one can only admire the Herculean efforts of such giants as Woolf Barnato, Jack Dunfee, Tim Birkin and Sammy Davis, consistently wrestling the British Racing Green sports cars to victory.

W O Bentley proudly unveiled the new 3-litre car bearing his name on Stand 126 at the 1919 Olympia Motor Exhibition, the prototype engine having fired up for the first time just a few weeks earlier. Bentley's four-cylinder 'fixed head' engine incorporated a single overhead camshaft, four-valves per cylinder and a bore/stroke of 80x149mm. Twin ML magnetos provided the ignition and power was transmitted via a four-speed gearbox with right-hand change. The pressed-steel chassis started off with a wheelbase of 9' 9½", then adopted dimensions of 10' 10" ('Standard Long') in 1923, the shorter frame being reserved for the TT Replica and subsequent Speed Model. Rear wheel brakes only were employed up to 1924 when four-wheel Perrot-type brakes were introduced.

In only mildly developed form, this was the model that was to become a legend in motor racing history and which, with its leather-strapped bonnet, classical radiator design and British Racing Green livery, has become the archetypal Vintage sports car.

Early success in the 1922 Isle of Man Tourist Trophy, when Bentleys finished second, fourth, and fifth to take the Team Prize, led to the introduction of the TT Replica (later known as the Speed Model and identified by the Red Label on its radiator ) on the existing 9' 9½" wheelbase, short standard chassis. Bentley had made approximately 1,600 3-Litre models when production ceased in 1929, the majority of which were bodied by Vanden Plas with either open tourer or saloon coachwork.

Dr Clare Hay's authoritative work, Bentley, The Vintage Years, records the fact that chassis number 'TN1566' (with engine number '1567') was completed in April 1927 on the long standard 10' 10" wheelbase chassis with coupé coachwork by Offord. Hay records that 'TN1567' was first owned by one W A Thompson and registered as 'YF 2654', noting: "Now 2 seater on 9' 0" wheelbase." It is not known when this modification was carried out.

The next ownership record we have is an old-style buff logbook issued on 1st June 1950 listing four owners: Arthur Ratcliffe Ainsworth of Dorking; A B B Woodburn of Bolesworth; Bursledon Autos of Sholing; and one Miss Mary Louisa White, BSc, who registered the Bentley on 2nd March 1957. Miss White appears to have been a most enthusiastic owner, a view supported by the numerous Bentley Drivers Club membership cards on file, mostly dating from the late 1950s to the mid 1970s, while there are also some spectator's passes, an RAC membership card and a VCC official's badge. According to the deceased's family, Miss Mary Louisa White passed away in 2005 and was the last known person to drive the Bentley in the late 50s or early 60s. 'YF 2654' was then left to Miss Nicola White, (the last recorded keepers' niece) along with the property where the Bentley was kept. Miss Nicola White passed away in July 2023.

Additional documentation includes assorted correspondence, sundry bills, insurance paperwork, a later buff logbook (1963), an old-style V5 registration document, and four MoT certificates, the most recent of which was issued in 1964. The most recent tax discs on file date from the 1960s, so it seems reasonable to conclude that the Bentley was taken off the road sometime towards the end of that decade. It has remained in the owner's garage ever since, concealed beneath a variety of non-Bentley-related clutter, and is presented in 'barn find' condition, ripe for sympathetic restoration. Sold strictly as viewed, 'YF 2654' represents a wonderful opportunity to bring a long-forgotten 'W O' Bentley back to life.

Bonhams

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1949 Delahaye 175 S Saoutchik Roadster

Saoutchik was a cabinet maker when he moved to Paris from his home in Ukraine around 1900, but he didn’t take long to establish himself in the fledgling automotive coachbuilding industry and he showed a consistent flair over the next 50 years which puts him among the very elite of automotive designers.

His designs borrowed little from other designers, and along with names such as Figoni et Falaschi, Chapron, Franay and de Letourner et Marchand, Saoutchik was one of the foremost designers of exquisite Art Deco coachwork during the 20s and 30s.

Saoutchik was commissioned to produce the spectacular work-of-art by flamboyant English collector, Sir John Gaul. The design was based on the first post-war Delahaye chassis from a 175 S Roadster (chassis number 815023) producing 165 bhp from an engine much larger than the pre-war Delahayes ran – a 4,455 cc naturally aspirated overhead valve inline six cylinder engine with four-speed electro-mechanically actuated Cotal Preselector gearbox, Dubonnet coil spring front suspension, De Dion rear axle with semi-elliptic springs, and four-wheel hydraulic finned alloy drum brakes. The wheelbase was a whopping 116 inches.

The car was unveiled at the 1949 Paris Auto Show, and was exhibited at all the major European concours events that year, from Paris to Monte Carlo to San Remo, scooping the pool wherever it was exhibited. It won best-in-class in the Pebble Beach Concours d’Elegance in 2006 just a few months after a complete restoration. Just a few months later, the car was honored again, winning People’s Choice at theprestigious Amelia Island Concours d’ Elegance.

Having fulfilled its exhibition duties, it then passed through a succession of other flamboyant owners, including actress Diana Dors.

The final word on this stunning automobile goes to Ian Kelleher, President and Chief Operating Officer, RM Auctions

“Following the financial depression of World War II, there were few collectors with the means, flamboyance and flair to commission a car as exotic as this Saoutchik Roadster. Arguably the most desirable post-war, coachbuilt automobile of all time, it is truly a masterpiece of the coachbuilder’s art. Eye-catching and exotic, it is wonderful to drive and combines superlative styling on a chassis of competition quality.”

Courtesy of RM Auctions

[pajjorimre]

Peugeot Oxia

Debuted: 1988 Paris Motor Show

Specs: mid-mounted biturbo 2.8-liter V6 engine with 670 hp (500 kW) and 535 lb-ft (720 Nm), six-speed manual gearbox, AWD, four-wheel steering, 3,000 lbs (1,360 kg) weight, 350 kph